Wayside
by Shin Willow
Summary: Dawn goes on the run after End of Days. Xander's in the backseat.


Title: Wayside

Author: Shin Willow

E-mail: 

Archive: Delightfully Dead

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. Would if I could, though.

Spoilers: Angel Home, Buffy End of Days.

Summery: The stun gun has two electrodes that protrude from the end of the device. These are pressed against the assailant and the trigger is pulled. This causes a high voltage low amperage current to go from the electrodes through the assailant's clothes into his body. The pulsed current causes muscles to work super fast. Depleting them of needed blood sugars. The entire process takes only a few seconds and is very painful.

Warnings: (implied) Character death.

Note: Thanks to archpagen for giving this a quick beta. 'Preciate it.

Wayside

Dawn wasn't going by instinct. She knew who she could go to. Like Spike, Angel had to help her. Maybe Angel had an added layer of savior complex going on, but when things came right down to it, it was always about Buffy. He'd protect her for Buffy.

Dawn left... the car five blocks away from the Hyperion and walked the distance between. Trying not to let the destruction around her dissuade her. She made it to the hotel in fifteen minutes. She didn't have a story ready, couldn't think up one without a million holes built in, so Dawn rushed inside hoping if she looked and acted upset enough no one would ask too many questions about why she was there. She felt relieved and slightly panicked when she discovered the hotel totally empty--well, as far as she checked, anyway. Dawn was weary of searching the upper floors and the underground level. She'd done enough thoughtless, fool-hearty things for one day.

Dawn debated rather to wait for someone to come back to the Hyperion, or just go find one of Angel Investigation's employees. There were two addresses under two names Dawn recognized in a Rolodex behind the front desk. One of the names was Cordelia Chase; her address was marked "No longer in use", the other was Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. His address was conveniently listed "Current". Wesley, Dawn decided.

It took her an hour and a half to get to Wesley's apartment by MTA. By then, Dawn bulked up on the lies she'd tell Wesley, feeling less guilty about the deceit because out of everyone she knew who worked at Angel Investigations, Wesley was the one she knew least. Wesley never fell into the same habit as Giles and made any personal contact with Buffy's life outside the Slaying. Either that or the monks who made Dawn never bothered to build a back-story for an interpersonal relationship between Wesley and her.

The apartment complex was definitely upper class. Perfect for the entertaining bachelor. In a lot of ways it reminded Dawn of Xander's building. Dawn wiped tears away before knocking on Wesley's door. She waited for ten, stomach churning seconds before the door opened and revealed a gruff-looking Wesley. Her first thought was, "What the hell happened to this guy?" before she mentally dropped into character.

Wesley squinted at Dawn behind gold, thin-wire rimmed glasses, visibly trying to recall where he knew the young woman standing before him from. For a brief moment Dawn was afraid he wouldn't remember her. Just as quickly she calmed herself with the realization Wesley hadn't seen her, in theory, in over three years. "May I help you, miss?" Wesley asked.

"I'm Dawn Summers, Mister Pryce. Buffy's sister."

Wesley's eyes widened from their narrowness and he appraised Dawn closely before he nodded in recognition and waved her inside his apartment. Here the similarities to Xander's place ended. Xander was technically a bachelor, like Wesley, but he kept everything in his place practically as Anya left them. So his living space had Anya's decorative fingerprints all over. Touches that screamed comfort and lived in. Not so with Wesley's place. Dawn's immediate impression of the apartment was functional, no sense of homey-ness at all. There were books, plenty of books shelved away in bookcases holding up every wall she saw. Like Giles' old flat, but again, lacked any lived in quality. Just compunctual neatness trying hard not to be stuffy.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything off-hand to offer you in the way of refreshments, Miss Summers," Dawn turned away from judging Wesley's apartment to the Watcher. Wesley continued. "However I can have tea made in no time," Wesley said politely, but Dawn could detect little, if any, real nicety in his voice. Just a profuctionary offer.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

When Wesley left the room Dawn went over to one of two copper tinted couches that looked at each other over a dark wood coffee table, and she sat down on the sofa nearest the door. On the table a single book lie open. Under her, Dawn felt the residual warmth the sofa's cushions absorbed from Wesley's body. With something close to curiosity, Dawn reached over and grabbed the book off the table and bookmarked the tome with her thumb and closed the book and turned it over to read the spine. The title, written in a language Dawn was passingly familiar with, either Italian, or older--maybe Tuscan--read 'Dante's Divine Comedy.' Dawn reopened the book and saw the text was also written in the same language. She put the back on the table, opened to the same pages Wesley had left on. Moments later, Wesley came back holding a tray carrying a gleaming silver teapot and two porcelain teacups cradled in two matching porcelain saucers. He set the tray down on the table then scooped up the college reading material, walked over to the nearest bookshelf and carefully shelved it. When he rejoined Dawn he sat on the opposite couch and began pouring steaming tea into the cups.

"So, Miss Summers," Wesley began, handing Dawn a filled teacup, placing its saucer on her palm. "What brings you to my home? To Los Angeles, for that matter?"

Prepared for this question, Dawn let the lie roll off her tongue effortlessly. "There's an apocalypse happening in Sunnydale and my sister thought I'd be safer hanging out with Angel and you guys."

"Yes, we've heard there was some trouble on the Hellmouth. I believe Angel is already in Sunnydale to help your sister."

To cover the sudden well of panic bubbling up in her, Dawn took a long sip of her tea. Wesley raised his brow at Dawn's seeming ignorance of the beverage's piping hot temperature. There was no way her fabrication was going to hold up now. Not for long, anyway. As long as it takes for Buffy and the others, with Angel's help, to defeat the First and Angel returned to LA.

Dawn decided before she finished her sip of tea there was nothing to be done about it. All she can do is play this out until Angel came back, then she'd have to start moving again. Dawn just hoped she was able to get her hands on some real cash before then. She didn't imagine life as a runaway to be any easier without money.

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss Summers--"

"Call me Dawn," Dawn interrupted.

Wesley nearly smiled and said, "Only if you call me Wesley." Dawn offered her own wispy smile and nodded. Wesley went on.

"If you don't mind my asking, Dawn, how did you find my apartment?"

"In a Rolodex at the Hyperion. I hope you don't mind."

"Certainly not."

"About the Hyperion, I guess Angel helping out in Sunnydale explains his not being there, but I thought that's where you guys worked. It was deserted when I was there. How come?"

"I don't suppose anyone outside the firm would know this, but Angel Investigations is now situated at a new location." Wesley took a brief sip from his teacup, then let his gaze burrow into Dawn before he went on to say, "I suppose that explains why we all missed your sister's call."

Dawn's reaction to Wesley's question was to stare blankly. Proud she was able to keep her expression as far away from a deer caught in headlights as she could manage. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I just assume Buffy would alert us to your arrival, especially during these trying times."

"Well, Buffy didn't discuss it with me, Wesley. My coming to stay... here. Just told me to git while the gittin' was good. It probably slipped her mind to call, she has a lot of other stuff to worry about." Dawn was going for airy, but indignant, with her tone, but knew she sounded like she got caught in a lie and was trying to cover it up with inanities.

Wesley nodded, and looked like he believed her. Then he asked, "Did you drive here alone?"

"I... I..." Dawn was not prepared for that question. She considered a hundred other queries from Angel and his friends, but she just didn't think about a reply to the question of how she made it to LA. Oh, God, the last thing in the world she wanted to think about was that car and the drive here. "I-I did-did... I mean..." Dawn tried again, and failed. She felt the tears pool in her eyes.

"It's all right, Dawn. You must be quite tired," Wesley said, setting down his teacup and saucer on the tray. "I'll make up the spare bedroom and you can rest." Wesley rose to his feet.

Dawn blinked back her tears and nodded up at Wesley.

"In the morning you can tell me why you're really here. Yes?" Wesley asked pointedly. Dawn gnawed on her bottom lip briefly before giving another assenting nod.

The city had found some sense of peace and calm since Jasmine's mind-altering sway over the populace was broken. By no means back to normal, but certainly better than the previous forty-eight hours had seen. Wesley watched the local news on his seldom used television set in his living room, there were endless reports on random but mostly isolated acts of violence and vandalism happening throughout the state. Many stations compared the dying down of mayhem to the latter days following 1992 Los Angeles Riots. Though, in this case, no clear driving force was assigned to this latest disturbance.

Wesley knew many in the city would choose to block out Jasmine's influence. He was also aware there would be those who wouldn't forget. In all likelihood sects could spring forth to worship the fallen Goddess. Wesley resolved to have it looked into. It wasn't unheard of for beings like Jasmine to get resurrected by their followers.

Wesley was only half listening when another report tallying the dead was given. Yesterday the sum had risen to over six hundred, not including the "volunteers" devoured by Jasmine. They were numbered among the missing, which steadily elevated into the thousands. Fortunately, the death toll only went up by three today. One man had been beaten to death for praying to an unknown deity (the assailants remained uncaptured). A woman was found in her bathtub with both her wrists slit and no suicide note was present. Wesley's attention automatically perked up when the last casualty was mentioned. A man found slumped over in a car; he apparently bled to death from a fairly recent wound to his head. Other than that, the man was injured in no other way. What caught Wesley's attention was where the man's body was found—almost five blocks from the Hyperion.

It wasn't exactly next door, but bells rung in Wesley's head. He looked over at the closed door to the spare room where his impromptu guest was sleeping. He was definitely going to have a conversation with young Miss Summers.


End file.
